


When Your Nightmare Comes To Life

by turnitup



Series: Seal Team Week 2021 [4]
Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Night Terrors, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28880337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup/pseuds/turnitup
Summary: When you close your eyes what do you dream about? What do they say about you?
Relationships: Brock Reynolds/Clay Spenser
Series: Seal Team Week 2021 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113044
Comments: 9
Kudos: 39





	When Your Nightmare Comes To Life

**Author's Note:**

> \- TRIGGER WARNING -  
> This work contains references to graphic injuries, blood and gore. If this is offensive or triggering for you, please do not continue reading.

Cold.

He was so cold.

Crystal blue eyes fluttered open, a pained groan escaping his lips.

His limbs were numb, head was throbbing, throat so dry. Everything he tried to see before him was a blur. Nothing but a cloudy mix of inky blacks and foggy grays.

Trying to awaken from his disoriented, dizzy haze, he attempted to rub at his eyes, only to discover that he couldn't. He tried to move his other hand, met with the same result. When he pulled, something held him back. It was then that he focused more clearly, confused as to why his movement was halted.

Once he was finally able to register the sensation and turn his head, his pupils constricted.

His arms were painfully bound to each side of his body by thick, sturdy rope that scraped at his skin, tearing deeper into flesh as he slowly started to struggle. The rope connected into the ground, leaving no indication that he would be able to remove it. His legs were free, but they felt so heavy, as if they were made of lead. He couldn't get up. He could barely move at all. Panic rose in his chest.

A single light shined down on his form, akin to a spotlight. However this was no stage. There was no audience. And the fear that bubbled inside of him was no act.

Twisting his head from side to side, he saw that there was emptiness. Everywhere he turned to face, he got a view of thick fog that circled him, almost as if it was a living being, searching for a dark opening to enter from. The only thing that kept it at bay was the light. Behind the fog was pitch blackness.

Swallowing hard, Clay did his best to calm his breathing. He hadn't noticed until now that he could see his breath, a mist of air forming before his eyes before quickly evaporating into nothingness. It was freezing. He was clad in boxer briefs, but it did little to keep him from shivering. His body trembled as wind picked up from all sides.

What the hell was going on? Where was he? Where was his brothers? And how on earth did he get here?

He had no idea what to do. Bravo would come for him but could he afford to wait that long?

He sat there, shivering in the unbearable cold, watching as the darkness slowly make it’s way towards the light. Towards him. 

The wind started to howl, fog swirling around him. He started feeling nauseous as muted colours strained at his view.  
  
There! Was that Jason? Or was it Sonny? Maybe Brock or Trent?

Clay opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was going to yell for them. Get their attention. Cry out for help. Anything. But it got stuck in his throat.

He couldn't speak.

Without warning, they laughed loudly, throwing their heads back almost comically, as if they had heard the funniest joke ever. Their shoulders heaved up and down as the sound echoed in the darkness, the fog circling them wildly. The echo made it louder than it actually was, hurting Clay’s ears. They laughed for minutes before they abruptly stopped, still and quiet once again. No movement whatsoever.

It was unsettling.

Seconds later, they all turned to face him.

His brothers had heavy shadows covering their faces eyes. Wide, menacing grins spread across their lips. They leaned in, towering over their youngest brother, disturbingly dilated pupils piercing into his soul.

He nearly stopped breathing. At first, he had been relieved to see his brothers, to see someone he knew in this place. But now...staring with such twisted expressions, it was absolutely terrifying. He was even colder than before.

Their mouths started moving as if they were speaking, but he heard nothing. They looked at each other, saying words that never reached his ears. The silence was deafening. They didn't seem to pay him any mind anymore. Their eyes never once glanced down at him again. They stood above him, communicating amongst themselves while he was forced to watch in confusion.

Clay furrowed his brows. What was this? He tried to speak, but again, no words came out. He was left with his mouth wide open, trying to force sound to surface. He felt like he was choking, a lump forming in his throat.

The air around him was harder to breathe in, like it was getting thinner in his small circle.

Equivalent to the fog, his brothers couldn't enter into his light.

"B-Broth-thers...H-Help m-me..." He was able to say, teeth chattering from the frigid atmosphere.

But they ignored him.

The silence was soon broken as sound finally reverberated in his ears.

"...Worthless..."

"...Useless..."

"...Whiny..."

"...Irritating..."

"...Pathetic..."

The words sounded cut off, as if they were saying them in a sentence that he was unable to hear the rest of.

"...Coward..."

"...Weak..."

"...Idiot..."

"...Stupid..."

"...Selfish..."

More slurs were thrown. W-Were...Were they about him?

Though he was still unsure, he suddenly felt self-conscious. His chest started feeling knotted with every new insult. Every breath he took hurt.

"He looks so weak."

“He’s a waste of space."

“Such a loser."

"He only ever cares about himself."

"He deserves to die alone."

In unison, each brother took a step back. They stood farther away from him now, their figures clouded by the fog.

The light of the small circle began to dim. Clay’s eyes widened in fear. If that thin glimmer of protection died out, the fog would certainly get him. And he really didn't want to see what would happen if it did.

"We don't need him, anyways."

"He's not good enough to be Bravo."

"If he disappeared, we would be fine."

"We probably wouldn't even notice he was gone."

"Because he's all alone."

They took another step back, and the light dimmed more. He quickly pieced together what was happening. And he panicked.

"B-Boys! Don't leave me here! Help me, please!" Clay began to struggle in his restraints. The rope cut at his wrists and pulled at his shoulders but he didn't care. Fear and adrenaline pumped through his frozen veins. He watched as they distanced themselves from him, the light dying. Menacing fog quickly seized his body, wrapping around his legs.

A shriek of agony ripped through him, tearing out of his throat. Upon contact, his skin immediately began to sizzle. It was so freezing, so bitter-cold, it actually burned him. The white-hot pain was like nothing he'd ever had to bear before in his life. No amount of abuse or beatings could ever amount to the level of excruciating, searing torment he was enduring now. He gritted his teeth, hard enough to break them.

Through his blinding tears, he managed to catch a glimpse of his brothers, standing considerably farther away now, staring at him in the distance. They were no longer smiling. Instead, that giddiness they once had was replaced by faces of pure malice.

"Why should we help you? You've done nothing to deserve that luxury." Ray’s voice echoed in his blaring ears.

"All you do is cause us headaches and irritation. When exactly was the last time you didn't get into a jam? Slow us down? Endanger the team?" Trent could be heard through the other ear.

"You may be our brother, but that doesn't mean we actually care about you. Always acting like you're better than us. It's disgusting." Sonny overlapped the other two voices.

"You think I actually enjoyed listening to your annoying voice when you talk about those books? We tolerated you. That's all." Brock sounded so uncharacteristically grim.

"But we've come to realize that we don't need you. You're more trouble to keep around then what it's actually worth. You don't mean anything to us. Another mouth to feed. Another person to deal with. No thank you." Jason’s voice came last.

Despite how far they were, he clearly heard their harsh words. His tears came down harder.

"I-I'm...I'm sorry...I didn't know that I..." Despite the pain, he lowered his head shamefully. "I didn't mean to cause you so much trouble! I just...I...I mean..." Sobs quickly racked his body, tears dripping down his cheeks. The fog wrapped itself further up his body, the pain intensifying with every inch that covered him. It was as if billions of heated needles repeatedly pierced his flesh, stabbing into every pore with lightening speed.

"B-But I can make it right! Please, don't leave me here! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I-I don't want to be alone! Please don’t leave me alone!"

He didn't care about the pain. He didn't care about the icy nip in his bones. He didn't care about the fog. He didn't care about anything else at this moment.

Without his brothers, his family, he might as well have been dead. He needed them more than anything else.

They stepped further and further away. The light that once shined down on him was gone, leaving him in absolute darkness. The fog frenzied him like hungry hyenas, taking on a more physical form resembling tentacles, while wrapping itself around his body, burning through his clothes, penetrating his skin the same way knives would. Blood seeped out of his wounds, though he couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything anymore. And it wasn't because of the bone chilling cold.

As the figures disappeared in to blackness without so much as another word, Clay snapped, losing all sense of what little mental stability he had.

"Jason! Ray! Sonny! Trent! Brock! Please! COME BACK!"

The screams that tore his vocal chords were enough for him to taste iron in his mouth. With each brother's name yelled out, his voice became more strained. He thrashed about, pulling against his restraints. The rope dug deeper into his wrists, tearing at his bruised flesh. His fists had been clenched so tightly, his nails had cut the palms of his hand, drawing blood like the rope. Tears refused to stop pouring from his eyes, sobs forcing his body to shake uncontrollably.

"PLEASE! HELP ME! DON'T DO THIS TO ME! I'M SORRY! I'M SO SORRY! PLEASE STOP THIS! I DON'T WANT TO BE ALONE! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE! YOU’RE MY BROTHERS! **I NEED YOU!** "

The fog, in its eerie intense form, reacted to his distressed state by wrapping tighter around his limbs, squeezing the literal life out of him, crushing his midsection together until he heard a sickening snap. Then another. Then another.

His ribs were broken.

He hardly yelped as he doubled over, vomiting a muddy mix of crimson and bile onto the floor. 

His skin eventually began to blacken, cracking like porcelain.

It hurt so much.

Clay was almost surprised he hadn't yet succumbed from the sheer amount of sickening torture.

He only noticed his legs that were being eaten away when he looked down, the meat and fat being torn open, tendrils of veins and bone visible to the human eye. A horrible stinging throbbed in the wound. The fog snaked its way into his system from the enormous lacerations, freezing him from the inside out.

But none of it mattered to him. The pain hardly register in his mind anymore. No physical trauma could affect him more than the pain of his abandonment.

It seemed as though the fog would end his suffering soon enough as it rose over him. The pale skin of his neck quickly darkened. Pieces of the frozen skin crumbled away, allowing the fog to slither inside his esophagus from the raw openings. He wanted to vomit again, but the fog blocked the way. At the same time, it gripped at his throat tightly, choking him until a mix of saliva and blood trickled down his chin.

He couldn't breath. His vision dulled. He was dying.

In the final moments of what life he had left, he was able to whisper somber words, barely audible, even to himself.

"Please, don't leave me behind...I'm sorry..."

As his mind faded, he was met with one last sensation. The fog pierced into his chest, stabbing straight through his barely beating heart. Unlike everything else, this pain seized his very core. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't make a sound. The fog's tentacles separated, pulling in all different directions, until the heart split into six different pieces.

Then...

* * *

Clay’s eyes shot open, bloodshot. He immediately sat up, clutching his stomach, hand covering his mouth. He was about to throw up, but held it in, swallowing it back down. Panting, he looked to see he was in his apartment. Beside him, on various pieces of furniture some of his brothers slept soundly, snoring loudly beneath their blankets.

"Oh god..." Quietly escaped his lips. His form shook. His hands wouldn't stop moving. Touching his face, he was able to feel how cold he was. Freezing. Despite this, his clothes were drenched in sweat, droplets trailing down his cheeks. Though, they may have been tears. He didn't know.

* * *

Brock shifted in his sleep. Opening his eyes, something kept moving next to him constantly. The movement wouldn't stop. It was getting annoying. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to get the sleep out of them. He yawned, tiredly pushing himself up. He turned to see Clay, sitting beside him.

"Mm....You better have a good reason for waking me up, Sunshi-" He stopped himself.

Through the darkness of the room, he could see Clay was indeed awake. But something was wrong.

Slowly, he rocked back and forth, clutching the blanket in his hand for dear life, mumbling something under his breath, almost incoherently.

"I'm sorry. Please, don't go. I'm sorry. Please, don't go. I'm sorry. Please, don't go." The second born repeated to himself over, and over, and over again. His voice sounded strained, as if he had been chanting the phrase for hours.

Brock leaned in closer, furrowing his brows. "Clay...?"

What he saw shocked him to say the least.

His face was tear-stained, eyes red and puffy from what appeared to be crying with dark circles under them. Moisture still ran down his cheeks, dripping down to his chin before landing on his pajama shirt. Disheveled hair was matted to his face with sweat. His usually vibrant blue eyes looked dulled and gray, no light to be found in them. They may have looked straight ahead, but his focus was nonexistent.

"Clay. Hey, Clay!"

Calling him was useless. Waving a hand in front of his face deemed no result either as he simply continued what he was doing. It was when he lightly placed his hand on his shoulder in an attempt to get his attention that he felt the younger man flinch. He stopped rocking, creepily turning his head to face Brock.

When his eyes met Clay’s, Brock felt a deep sense of sorrow well up inside. Though it was dark, he could clearly see the look of distress that his lover was feeling. He'd never seen the young man act this way before, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel uneasy by the sight.

"B-Brock..." An excessive amount of tears swelled in Clay’s eyes as he came back to reality, realizing who he was staring at. He threw himself onto the other's chest, nearly causing him to fall back. Clay clutched his shirt tightly, heaving into the fabric.

"Please, don't leave me alone...I'll change, I-I promise...I'm sorry...but, please...don't abandon me. I can't live without you guys..."

Confusion still lingered.

"What're you talking about?" Brock whispered, grabbing him by the shoulders so he could look him in the eyes again.

"I-In...In my nightmare...you and the others finally realized you should have left me behind ... You guys thought I was a waste of space...Left me to...to..."

The sensation of the black fog that enveloped his body, squeezing, cutting, freezing him, had resurfaced, making him shudder. How it's icy grip violated him inside and out. The blood, the cold, the gore, the silence. All of which he had to endure alone. He wanted to throw up.

"Sunshine...it was just a dream..." Brock hesitantly put his hand on the other's back, pressing him closer. He noticed how cold Clay had been. "We don't...we could never hate you. Sure, you're a little shit sometimes, but...we'd never hate you..."

No...No, it was too real...Everything you said was too real..." Clay pushed him away, wiping the wetness from his face with his sleeve. "The problem is that you're right...I am a waste of space...I'm weak, and stupid, a-and..." He sniffled. 

Brock watched him as he clean himself up a bit.

"What exactly was this dream about? What happened?"

"You...You really don't want to know. Trust me."

"Just tell me. How bad could it be?"

Brock regretted ever asking.

* * *

As Clay finished his vivid explanation of the nightmare, mentioning every detail he could, Brock stared with pinpricks in his eyes. He shook slightly as he imagined how terrifying the whole ordeal must have been. It may have only been a dream, but even dreams were capable of feeling pretty damn real. And this wasn't the kind of dream you had every night. At least, he hoped not...

No. There was seriously a lot of things going on in Clay’s head. For his subconscious to manifested such a grotesque nightmare...

There was no way they treated him that way, right? Sure, they gave him a hard time when he was still a rookie and they teased him but that didn't mean they hated him. That they would be better off without him. The last thing they would ever want is for him to be dead.

"Now you see why I woke up the way I did? I mean, before I actually realized you had touched me, I don't think I was actually conscious. I was awake, but not...really there." Clay tried to turn his head away from his lover. He didn't want to see the judgmental gaze he was probably getting. He wiped at his eyes, getting rid of tears that started forming again. "Sorry...You can go back to bed. I didn't mean to have woken you up earlier..."

"You really are an idiot."

Before he had a chance to react, Clay was pulled into a tight embrace.

"Brock?"

"We love you, moron...I love you...You're our brother. It's our jobs to be assholes, but...never for you to feel like this. To have to go through something so goddamn horrific because of us. You're not a waste of space. Without you, we would never be whole. Bravo would be incomplete without you. Never in our lives would we want you dead. We will never leave you behind. Don't forget that, got it?" Brock’s voice was almost a whisper in his ear. He may have sounded irritated, but their was a hint of a slight tremble. As if he would start crying at any second. Clay couldn't see his face, but he felt the embrace tighten, pressing their bodies together.

Compared to his frigid form, Brock was so warm.

"Ah...O-Okay..." Clay wasn't sure on what to do. 

But he was happy, nonetheless.

Brock suddenly dragged him down on the mattress, laying on their respective sides. He kept him close to his side, allowing the younger to cuddle next to him. A light blush tinted his cheeks with slight embarrassment at the contact. Only a few months together and it still felt like something from a dream. Simply wrapping his arm around Clay’s shoulder, letting him curl up into a ball beside him.

"Sleep. It’ll feel different in the morning."

"...Sorry." Clay’s quiet voice spoke.

"Stop apologizing."

"Ah, sor-I mean...N-Night."

"...Night my love."

With that, both boys closed their eyes. Clay snuggled closer, embracing the warmth that radiated off of the dark haired Seal. His cold figure eventually began to thaw, letting him finally have a good night's rest. Once his breathing steadied, Brock knew he was asleep. He let his fingers play with strands of hair from behind the other's head, petting him occasionally. Clay’s hair was so soft. Way softer than his own messy, unkempt hair. His hand slowly trailed to his cheek, where he gently ran his thumb over his cheek. All the tears he shed earlier had stained his face, reminding him that this was an act of comfort.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he pushed hair from out of his face. He leaned down, and tenderly brushed a kiss over his forehead. He pulled back seconds later.

"I meant what I said earlier. I really do love you. We all do. And we're sorry..." Speaking as if to himself, Brock laid his head back on his pillow, closing his eyes. He hold him tightly, finally letting sleep take him.

Unknown to him, Clay heard every word and smiled. Warmth bubbled in his stomach, spreading throughout his entire body.

He didn't feel so cold anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Seal Team Week 2021 | Wednesday: Worst Fear
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcomed and appreciated!


End file.
